


Lunch

by theleaveswant



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Booty Call, Desk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Fear of Discovery, In Media Res, Office, Plot What Plot, Safer Sex, Secret Identity, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint pays Natasha a lunchtime visit while she's working at Stark Industries</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunch

Clint feels Natasha's teeth digging into the palm he has clamped over her mouth (she's making such a fuss about discretion here, it would be kind of unfair to let her bring the walls down with her screams, as much as he loves to hear them) and tightens his grip on her shoulder. He grunts, brushes his lips against her ear and mumbles, "God, Tasha. Close. Gonna--ahh." She bites down harder, bruising force on the heel of his hand, granting him permission, and he loses any remaining semblance of cool, hips snapping to rattle the desk, and Natasha's hand flies out barely fast enough to catch her pen cup before it skitters off the edge, knocking it on its side so that the pens spill out across the surface of the desk rather than cascading over onto the floor at the same time that Clint growls and gasps and spills inside of her.

He kisses her collarbone then lets his head fall against her breast while he waits for the spots in his eyes to clear, listening to the sound of her heartbeat--noticeably excited, well above normal in force and frequency, but still eerily calm compared to his own, merely mortal rhythm. His hand drifts away from her mouth to stroke her silky cheek as he steadies himself with deep, slow, centering breaths. 

"Well, that was fun," Clint says, when he's finally somewhat confident that his knees won't buckle if he tries to stand up.

"Yeah. Thanks for stopping by," Natasha agrees with a chuckle, petting a hand over the back of his sweaty neck. She hums as he pushes up onto his elbows, reaching between them to hold the base of the condom in place as he pulls out. "Careful," she says as he staggers (apparently his knees weren't quite up to the challenge after all, or maybe he'd forgotten about the tangle of pants and underwear around his ankles acting like a hobble). "Keep to the blind spot."

Clint glances down to check the faint line she's scuffed in the carpet, marking out the slice of her office not visible to the security camera outside her window, and makes sure to keep all parts of his body on the right side as he ties off the condom and tosses it overhand, a sticky missile arcing through the field of surveillance and dropping dead-center into the wastebasket next to the door. He can more than respect Natasha's desire not to have to break cover to keep her position as Pepper Potts' assistant were she to be caught screwing around on Stark property, as entertaining as the expressions on their superiors' faces when they learned of the circumstances would be.

He shuffles back around to look at her, still sprawled out across the desk, surrounded on one side by spilled pens, with her panties around one ankle, the double-ended zipper of her skirt undone from hem to hip to bear her stockinged thighs to the bright sunlight slanting in between the half-open blinds (and Clint is quite content for this assignment to drag on as long as it likes, if it means she'll keep wearing those stockings in the meantime), her blouse on the chair next to her head, and her bra hanging off the desk lamp. His own corporate-drag shirt and tie are in a crumpled mess on the floor where the pens would have landed. He watches her breasts rise and fall as she sighs, kicking her dangling feet. He feels improbably lucky.

"You're not . . . left hanging, or anything, are you?" he asks.

"Hmm." Natasha frowns thoughtfully as she stretches her arms overhead, her fingers wriggling as she catalogs the number of times she's already come, this visit. "I think I'm adequately sated. That was a good lunch."

"It was." Clint takes a look at his watch, checking that they still have a few minutes before her next scheduled appointment. "Think you've got room for dessert?"

Natasha laughs throatily, then raises her head to smirk at him. "I would not say no to dessert."

Clint grins and slurps two fingers into his mouth to wet them before he leans over her again, bracing on his other arm as he traces down her belly from the edge of her garter belt to her already sopping cunt.

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Scandalize a Conservative! Make Porn! Multifandom Create-a-thon](http://thatyourefuse.dreamwidth.org/273033.html), prompt "heartbeat". Takes place sometime during Iron Man 2 & implies that Natasha is serum-enhanced rather than standard-issue human.


End file.
